White Horses

DRACO WAS FEELING GUILTY. OR at least he thought he was feeling guilty. It was a rather novel emotion for the Slytherin, so he couldn't be too sure. He sat in one of the high-backed uncomfortable chairs that were littered around the damp Slytherin common room and pondered the situation with Potter. Carrying out his plan had seemed a lot simpler before he had actually begun to spend time with the Gryffindor boy.

Using the Boy Who Lived had seemed like no problem when he'd plotted everything out that summer - but that was the one important detail that he hadn't thought of. The plan had been centred on the Boy Who Lived: that infamous great prick that Draco - like everyone in the Wizarding world - knew all about. Hell, Draco had spent the last half of his life consciously trying to harm the boy in every way possible.

But the problem was that now Draco actually knew Potter - no, Harry. He had begun to realize there was a real person behind that do-gooder, invincible, whiter-than-snow persona and - here was the scary part - that he actually quite liked that person, for some damned reason. It turned out that Harry really was brave and heroic and good, and he was also snarky, sneaky and wickedly funny from time to time.

Draco mentally berated himself; getting the fool Gryffindor to trust him was one thing, but when he himself started seeking the boy out or willingly comforting him as he had out on that quidditch pitch, there was trouble.

Draco knew that in the end, he would end up betraying Harry (and even if it were for the best, he didn't think Harry would quite see it his way). Suddenly that didn't seem funny like it had over the summer but rather just unsettling. Draco looked up to notice Blaise Zabini leading many of his followers over and sat straighter in his dark mahogany chair in preparation, though his poise was always perfect.

Blaise let one of his flunkies take the first shot and so it was a snotty little fourth year girl who sneered at him, "Surprised to see you around here, Malfoy. You haven't been spending much time with your house. Decided to crawl back to Slytherin now, have you?"

Draco stared coldly back at the curly haired girl until she faltered. In his mind, he tried desperately to remind himself once again that the best way to make it look like all his house had turned on him was to actually let all his house turn on him. Of course some, like Zabini, had needed no encouragement.

Even though he told himself that this was critical to his act, it wasn't any easier to go against his long-trained and thoroughly ingrained Slytherin survival instincts. Willingly making yourself a target was always a risky business, but it was especially so with a group like his housemates.

Draco ignored the girl and spoke to Zabini, since he was the real voice behind this. "Some of us are actually good students, Zabini. It's obviously lost on you, but this is a school. Try to learn something." He could feel a smirk trying to show itself, "Or I'll have to teach you a lesson."

The boy smiled cruelly, as much his trademark as Malfoy's icy control, and tossed back his wine-colored hair. "Oh, Draco. Let's not make idle threats. You know that you don't have any power here. You don't have any power anywhere, least of all in the new order that's rising."

Draco had bristled at the uninvited use of his first name, but any indignation had been quickly swallowed by the blind panic that he didn't dare betray to his persecutors. This is it, then.

"We aren't going to listen to your orders or whims anymore. You're out, Draco. You are not welcome in Slytherin anymore." Draco continued his frozen glare, knowing perfectly well that it made his silvery eyes look deader than the heart of winter and deeper than an arctic crevice. You could lose yourself in eyes like that, and it wouldn't be a pleasant trip.

He asked in a controlled voice, "What, is this your idea of a coup d'état, Blaise?" He made himself not show the nausea that was clawing at his stomach, the bile that he could feel fighting up his throat.

Blaise's smile grew wider, "No, Draco, this is a coup de grâce. We're just putting you out of your misery; there's nothing left of you to even overthrow."

Draco looked around the common room. Many of the youngest students had evacuated to their dorms as soon as they'd seen Blaise coming. Most of those closer to his own age had stayed, not willing to miss a moment of the drama, even while they attempted to look uninvolved. He saw the students who were so blatantly and ignorantly enamored with Blaise and the bastard's 'ideals,' and he also saw Pansy ready to jump in and defend him if necessary.

Draco shook his head slightly at her; he didn't want her hurt any more than she would be once she found out he had planned for all this to happen and had been lying to her all along. She was already going to be after his blood, without any extra grievances.

Draco acquiesced gracefully, still not displaying a hint of what he was feeling. He walked to the door and then turned, taking in one last cursory glance of the eerie common room under the lake, which had been his domain for so long. He told Blaise, "Good luck, Zabini. We'll see how long it is before some new upstart comes along to take your place."

Blaise tried to act like the comment rolled off him, but Draco could tell that his cold assurance had gotten to the other boy, who was already mentally reviewing his competition. He wanted to smirk, but it would ruin the perfect image he had now. Zabini would never be as controlled as he was, and so he would never be able to control the Slytherins as he had. Pulling that self-possession around him, Malfoy strode out of the dorms like a conquering lord.

The outcast Slytherin made it out the door and a couple feet down into the dark corridor before he fell to his knees, feeling a sudden need to hyperventilate. He frantically told himself again and again that everything had gone according to plan, but it didn't work and the thought was soon replaced by his wondering just how the hell this had ever seemed like a good plan.

Is it worth it? Even if I do succeed, I've lost everything. Nothing's going to be the same now, nothing can ever go back to the way it was. No, he tried forcefully to convince himself, I had no choice.

He couldn't even go back to the Slytherin dorms, not after an exit like that. He wasn't sure how far Zabini would go on his threats that Draco was no longer welcome, but he knew that the boy could, as the current ruling power, make life miserable for him. He'd done it to enough people himself to remember. He would have to quiz Pansy tomorrow - she, at least, was intelligent enough to know to gather all the gossip on Draco's behalf.

Draco staggered away, still taking sharp, wheezing breaths as he tried to push down his panic. I had no choice. The only place he could think to go to was the room he shared with Potter. Thinking of that room brought to mind the boys' last conversation. Even Draco wasn't sure how much of what he said was for his act anymore, or just how much of it he really meant.

Was it possible that Harry could save him, like he saved everyone else? Draco's plotting had all been the result of his belief that no one else could or would save him but himself. Could he really depend on Potter and trust him enough to change all his plans? No, even if I could bring Harry over to believe my way is right, he couldn't act to save his life. I've got to betray him and it's got to be real, or it will be my life. No choice.

Moral quandaries aside, Draco still needed a place to pass the night. Perhaps Harry couldn't save him from his fate, but he could save him from spending the night on the stone floor of a cold dungeon room. Or so Draco hoped. With that in mind, he started up the many stairs that would lead to the seventh floor and the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

As a Slytherin, he of course made it his business to know where all the other houses had their headquarters. Slytherin had been thought to be the most unknown dorm, thanks to the cunning and distrust of its inhabitants. But then Harry had walked up and banged on the door one night, so that image might be a bit tarnished now.

He came up to a truly hideous portrait of a grossly overweight woman, squeezed into a pink satin dress that looked like a sausage casing. He put on his most charming smile, one that very few got to see but had always gotten him what he wanted in the past. This must be the place.

Malfoy batted his silver eyes innocently at the woman in the painting, not aware that they still looked far too cold for a schoolboy. "Excuse me, miss, but I'm looking for Harry Potter. Do you know if he's in residence?"

The woman just frowned down at him imperiously and asked, "Password?"

Draco turned his smile slightly apologetic and said ingratiatingly, "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't know the password. Harry just told me where his house was, he must have forgotten to give me the password." He smiled and winked roguishly, "Must've slipped his mind." You could say many things about Draco Malfoy, but you couldn't deny that the boy could act.

He could see the Fat Lady about to scold him for being so saucy when he heard a familiar voice behind him say, "Malfoy, that was the most frightening thing I've ever seen. Did you really just wink at the Fat Lady?"

The blonde turned to find Harry and that idiot Weasel friend of his staring at him. He blinked. Apparently they hadn't been as impressed with his act as a coquette. Then he noticed that their arms were full of food and candy, and that old get-the-Gryffindors-in-trouble habit sprang back to life as he said accusingly, "You've been nicking food from the kitchens!"

Before Harry could refute that, a familiar withered figure came racing up the hall, screeching, "Mr Harry Potter, sir! You is forgetting your favourite éclairs!" Draco could just make out a pair of large, green bat ears behind a platter stacked over a foot high with pastries.

"Dobby?!" he exclaimed disbelievingly. He hadn't seen the house elf since he had been freed by Potter three years ago. It had been one of his father's favourite things to complain about that summer.

The awkward creature nearly dropped his platter in shock and peeked over the mound of sweets to squeak, "Master Malfoy!" He tried to bow but ended up with a face full of frosting and Draco knelt down to the take the tray off the little figure. He looked curiously at the elf; just when he was despairing how things would never again be as they were, here was a figure from his past suddenly appearing in the most unlikely place imaginable. The gods must be laughing.

Dobby was mopping his face on his shrunken jumper, which looked oddly like something the Weasel brats wore to Draco. He sniffled and said, "Master Malfoy, Dobby cannot believe he is seeing you at last! Dobby has been working here, for Dumbly-dore, since he is leaving his masters. Oh, how is the mistress?"

How can I use this to my advantage?

Draco was overloaded and replied without thinking in a slightly dazed voice, "Mother is just fine, Dobby. She still has Nobby and Trixy to take care of her."

Harry suddenly piped up, "Ooh, don't ever let Hermione hear that you still have house elves, Malfoy. She'll never give you a moment's peace."

The Weasel had now gone from staring at Draco to staring at Harry, and his face was beginning to get red. Draco knew that look: it meant someone was going to belching up slugs soon and it better not be him.

Ignoring his friend's mounting anger, Harry asked Draco, "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Ron crushed some of the food in his arms as he convulsed in anger and he bit out, "What does it look like! He's here to sneak into our dorms to try and find out all our secrets!"

Harry looked bemused and turned to Ron, "Um, Ron, I think that's a bit of the pot calling the cauldron black, don't you? You do remember the Polyjuice incident?" Draco wasn't sure what they were talking about, but was beginning to get suspicious again about just how Harry had known the location of the Slytherin dorms.

Ron spluttered and said, "But, that was different! We weren't evil gits out looking for our enemies' secrets! Er... or, at least, we weren't evil gits!" Draco was getting very suspicious.

Harry turned back to Draco and must've seen something in his expression because he said to Ron, "Let's just get all this inside. I need to talk to Malfoy for a minute." Dobby sped off, saying something about shirking his duties and promising to visit both Harry and Draco soon.

He had left Draco holding the tray of pastries, who was unsure what to do with it. Harry shrugged and told the Fat Lady, "Phoenix ashes" - which was evidently the password because the portrait swung open without any further complaints to reveal the Gryffindor common room.

Draco could hear Ron making apoplectic noises and Harry telling him, "Oh, you're a prefect, Ron. You can change the password as soon as we leave." Draco was too busy staring at the Gryffindors inside to pay the two in front of him much note, though. He had never been in any of the other house's common rooms before and was taken aback by how fundamentally different the room was from Slytherin house.

All the decorations were done up in gaudy red and gold, no surprise there. There were two large fireplaces, burning merrily at opposite ends of the room. People were playing chess and Exploding Snap at the small round tables, reading in one of the threadbare but comfortably overstuffed armchairs or simply lazing about talking and laughing.

For some reason that Draco couldn't grasp, one second year boy had been turned into a giant canary and all his friends and many of the uppers were laughing at him as he moulted. A large percentage of the students turned at Potter's entrance and there were catcalls and cheers all around for Harry's usual obtaining of sweets, though no one knew how he did it. Then a few of them spotted Draco.

Those closest to the door fell silent and more people turned to see what the cause was. Draco growled at a few second years who were staring up at him in horror. He was pleased when they physically jumped, but less pleased when Harry kicked him in the shin.

"Play nice!" the Gryffindor hissed under his breath, then he said more loudly, "Well, Malfoy - if you're going to be helpful, set that tray down, would you."

Draco glared at Harry murderously then looked around disdainfully, "I've no intention of being 'helpful' if it means wallowing into the lion's den. You expect me to set a foot in there? That gaudy monstrosity you call a common room? You must be dreaming, Potter." Surely many of Potter's housemates thought they were dreaming when they saw Harry smile at the Slytherin's antics.

Harry and Ron set down their armfuls of candy, butterbeer and snacks, while Draco looked around critically. He barked at the second years he had already frightened, "You! Sproglets! Take the sweets if you want them, you little ingrates." Shaking from head to toe, the two came forward and took the large tray from Draco, balancing it between them. Harry looked back at Draco, who motioned toward the door with a sharp nod.

The black-haired Gryffindor nodded and said loud enough for those around him to hear, "Well, I've got to go discuss a project with Malfoy. Everyone, help yourselves." The two left a wake of whispered gossip behind them as they left.

Back in the hall, Draco found himself under the close scrutiny of the woman in the pink dress. "A Slytherin, are you?" she asked, looking him over.

When he nodded, she gazed at he and Harry, standing close together to fight off the curious whispers and stares that seemed to be following them. The woman then smiled, musing, "Hmm. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. It's been years since I've seen such a pairing. Sad, really: Gryffindor and Salazar were the closest of friends, of course."

She smiled down at him like a benevolent aunt, "Sorry I was so rude to you earlier, dear. I thought you were just trying to sneak into the dorms. You just don't see Gryffindors and Slytherins being friends these days."

Harry dragged Draco away as he spluttered in a decidedly unMalfoy fashion, "Uh, no... that's not - we aren't frie--but... Harry!"

The Gryffindor boy pulled him down the corridor and asked, "Now what's going on, Malfoy? What happened that would drive you to Gryffindor Tower?"

Draco thought that he might be angry, but when he saw the boy's face, the Gryffindor only looked curious. Harry wasn't sure what he thought he'd seen in Malfoy's face, but for some reason he'd gotten the impression that something had gone horribly wrong for the boy.

Draco told him, since it would be obvious by tomorrow to anyone who was observant at all. "I've been kicked out of Slytherin, Potter. Overthrown. Dethroned, if you will."

Harry stared at Draco, not really understanding what the boy was saying. He had noticed the extra tension amongst the Slytherins, but never thought Malfoy might loose his control over them. That was his role, wasn't it? The Slytherin prince.

Draco was trying to make light of the situation. If Harry turned him away now, he would have no where else to go. "You see, Blaise Zabini - schmuck that he is - decided that he was sick of living under my rule. I don't have quite the same clout in Slytherin house as I once did, what with... all that's happened in the last year."

Neither boy need confirm it by saying it aloud: they were both aware of Lucius Malfoy's position and how it affected his son. "He kicked me out," Malfoy continued, "told me I wasn't welcome in Slytherin anymore. So, I guess that what I'm trying to say is that, er, I need a place to crash tonight. Till I figure out what I'm going to do."

Harry chewed on that one for a while, and Draco was beginning to feel apprehensive that the Gryffindor would flat out refuse him any help. But it seemed that he had just been trying to think of an appropriate place to stuff the Slytherin, because he quickly dragged Draco up a staircase and down several halls. He left Malfoy at an intersection of corridors and told him to stay put, before dashing down the right branch to the stretch of hall that held the Room of Requirement.

Concentrating on his need for a room for his favourite rival, Harry dashed back and forth in front of the entrance seven times, as necessary for the room to work. He pushed the door open to find a bedchamber decorated lavishly in green. It seemed the room wasn't without a sense of humour.

He propped the door open so he could leave to get Malfoy without it reverting back to whatever the room's natural state was, and saw that there were several heavy padlocks along the inside as well, allowing the inhabitant to seal it from within. It seemed the room wasn't without a sense of caution, either.

Malfoy had been quite curious to hear Harry scurrying about down the hall, but had stayed put as he had been told, until the Gryffindor popped back around the corner and motioned for him to follow. They arrived at a room that Draco recognized as the self-same one that Harry's little defence group usually met in. Only now the room looked like a regular dorm room, but a bit more sumptuous and with only one bed.

He turned to look accusingly at his Gryffindor counterpart, who had followed him into the room. "You're really going to have to explain some of these things to me sometime, Potter. You have far too many secrets than is decent for a Gryffindor."

Draco spied a large wardrobe against one of the walls and pulled it open to reveal an entire set of Slytherin crested robes. He said sourly to Harry, "Now that's just showing off."

He took off his own robes and draped them carefully over the chair, slightly wary that the omniscient wardrobe would eat his custom-tailored robes. He kicked his shoes off as well and clad in just his same pair of worn muggle jeans, a long sleeved pullover and his black socks, he threw himself on the bed. He sighed in relief and, feeling unreasonably comforted simply by having something soft to sleep on, he said, "Never mind, Potter. I don't even want to know. I just want to rest and pretend this room is what's real."

Harry came over and gingerly took a seat next to him on the bed. "Malfoy, I don't really understand what's going on, but you can't use this room for more than just tonight. Someone will catch on."

Draco rolled over on his side, propped himself up on an elbow and looked over at Harry. The black-haired boy adopted a similar pose to mirror him. Draco let down his guard (as much as he was able to) around Harry and actually allowed himself to show some of the worry and uncertainty he was feeling. It felt like such a relief to do so after the strain of his altercation with Zabini.

He wasn't sure how much to tell the boy. He had already determined that he couldn't let Harry in on his plans. No one could know, not even Snape - who knew more than most, and hated him for it. And Dumbledore himself had called Draco into his office, trying to wheedle out of him just what he was up to. But he would play his cards close to his chest. Oh yes, not even Harry could be trusted completely. The foolish Gryffindor might do something to 'help' and ruin the whole plan, dooming them both.

But he wanted to tell Potter. Just now he wanted to confess all his sins and let the Boy Who Lived take care of everything. But if he told him the truth, Harry would hate him more than he ever had and Draco wasn't willing to give up now, not when he had already lost so much for this awful plan.

Instead he gave Harry a brief sketch of what had transpired between he and Blaise that evening in the common room. Harry was a bit dazed by the intrigues afoot in Slytherin house, but struggled to stick to the important questions nonetheless. He asked Draco, "Well, do you think that he meant you to stay out of Slytherin house permanently?"

Draco shook his head miserably, saying, "Even if he didn't, I'll not be welcom there again. I can't stay there any longer, Harry." Was this an act? Neither boy really knew.

Harry fell back flat upon the newly created bed and Draco noted absently how well the green suited him, making his skin look even more milky white against the soot of his black hair. He opened his eyes and they were almost the exact shade as the duvet, the same colour as Avada Kedavra. Draco knew that colour would haunt him, both in dreaming and in the waking world.

He lay back as well, prepared to let Harry muse over the problem for a while. He wondered if the boy gave off some strange pheromones, because he seemed to always have this strange, calming affect on Draco. There was just something about Harry Potter that inspired confidence in just about everyone who encountered him. Unfair to poor Harry, when everyone dumped their problems on him - but he seemed to be willingly shouldering Draco's burden. And Draco was prepared to let him; it was nice to let someone else take care of things, when you were used to depending on no one but yourself to solve your problems.

He hummed quietly to himself, his fingers playing across the coverlet as if it were a piano. Harry smiled slightly and asked him teasingly, "Don't you think you ought to be taking the situation a bit more seriously?"

Draco smirked haughtily, feeling mellow, "Oh, don't you worry, Potter. I've already gone through the blind panic and denial and hyperventilating, even a brush with nausea. I'm sure I'll have a few more panic attacks after you've gone as well." He continued his tune and Harry was distracted, as he had never heard anything vaguely musical from the boy before. With an effort, he focussed again.

Where could they hide Malfoy? Harry would have liked to have gone to Dumbledore with the problem and might well have, despite their recent difficulties - if it weren't for the old man's chilling attitude toward Malfoy, as demonstrated in their last meeting. He couldn't ask Snape either, since Snape hated the boy. And Lupin, wonderful though he might be, was still too close to Dumbledore and wouldn't allow such flagrant flouting of school rules to go unnoticed (despite the fact that he had helped his friends become illegal animagi when they had been at school). McGonagall was the only other teacher he was close to and it wasn't even comprehensible to go to her about helping a Slytherin rat like Malfoy. It seemed the students would have to solve this one for themselves.

The most obvious solution was, of course, their dungeon room. But Harry wasn't sure how comfortable he felt, aiding in Malfoy's escape from Slytherin house. Of course, these weren't Hufflepuffs; they weren't going to just kiss and make up. But what would it be like to live without a house, to be isolated like that?

Malfoy wasn't a loveable creature and wouldn't be welcome in any of the other houses either - though Harry wasn't entirely adverse to the boy himself. Should he be helping Malfoy to get away, or should he be prompting him to work things out with his house? Or should he - god forbid - help him regain his position, if possible? He wasn't sure what was the right thing to do.

He looked over at the reclining blonde. I guess if Malfoy wants to leave, it's really not my place to tell him whether he can or not. They weren't even friends, really. They were something else, maybe something even rarer. He propped himself up over the boy and Draco opened his eyes a slit, to reveal a silvery gleam as he watched Harry through downcast lashes. All Harry said was, "So, the dungeon room?"

Draco nodded; there was no need for further clarification between them. They'd both been running through the possibilities in their minds and had arrived at the same conclusion. Harry ran a hand through his hair and tugged at the roots as he tried to figure out how to make the cold, stone room hospitable - though Malfoy was probably used to similar conditions in the Slytherin dungeons.

He looked around them, frowning, and told Draco, "We could try to take the furniture from this room, though I'm not sure if it really exists outside this room. If not, we could... well, I guess we could try to transfigure something."

Draco looked at the furnishings of the room critically and sighed like the tragic hero that he was, agreeing unwillingly, "I guess I could live with such rubbish."

Harry pinched him before continuing, "So, supposing we could get all this down there, with a size-reduction spell or something... and supposing that it doesn't disappear as soon as we do so... you can't just live in the dungeons by yourself. I mean..." He searched for an obvious reason and said, "On the most basic level, you need a bathroom!"

Draco pursed his lips and then brightened, and said, "Well, no, I don't. See, though you wouldn't know it, the prefects have quite a nice, exclusive bathroom available to us."

Just loving to goad the Slytherin, Harry sniffed disdainfully, "What, you mean the one of the fourth floor, with the jewel taps? That's nothing special, I've seen better. Though," he added thoughtfully, "I was rather fond of that icy white foam, the one you could almost float on top of."

"I really hate you."

Harry smiled cheekily and told him, "I'd be careful if I were you. That mermaid in the portrait isn't the only one who's watching in that bathroom. Moaning Myrtle also likes to take peeks at the boy prefects."

Draco shook his head in disgust, but he sounded almost proud when he said, "Do you know every goddamn secret in this castle? I know you're the Golden Boy and all, but really: how the hell do you get all this insider knowledge? You ought to be a Slytherin."

Harry looked back at the other boy, his green eyes unreadable and said, "Yeah, so I've been told." Draco looked at him searchingly after that ambiguous remark, but Harry simply nodded and murmured, "Mm-hmm."

Changing the subject, Harry asked, "What about houses? Where are you going to take your meals? What about classes? What about... quidditch?"

Draco paled slightly; he hadn't thought about quidditch. Obviously the plan should and would take priority, but quidditch was one of the few things he truly enjoyed. He said slowly, his confidence shaken, "I figure I can work something out with Dobby for meals, now that I know the miserable little critter is around. And all the classes are shared now, anyway; shouldn't matter so much if my actual housemates exclude me. Plus, Crabbe and Goyle will stick with me no matter what may come. As for quidditch..."

He swallowed convulsively and said, "We'll see if Slytherin wants to risk its rank by cutting the best player they have." He tried to sound more sure than he felt.

Harry was feeling a bit guilty himself for upsetting the boy further. He was still leaning over Draco, and reached down to muss the boy's hair in the way he knew Malfoy hated. It left him looking far younger than sixteen, with his baby-fine hair falling in his eyes and tangled on the bed beneath him. "Don't worry," Harry said, "I'll meet you here tomorrow morning. I have D.A.D.A. at eleven. What about you?"

"N.E.W.T. Arithmancy, at half eight."

Harry pulled a face and said, "Ugh, sounds like Hermione. Fine, I'll be here at seven and we'll see if we can't set something up for you."

Draco nodded, feeling slightly awed. He was barely listening as Harry made his excuses, though he felt the bed give when the Gryffindor pushed himself up. Are things really that simple for Potter to solve?

"I'll have a word with Dobby tonight, if I can," Harry said, pausing at the door and taking a silvery cloak out of an inner pocket of his robes.

He bid Draco goodnight and Draco returned the sentiment. He got up to lock the door after the dark haired boy and then threw himself back on the bed. This is it. Everything's in motion now. Maybe Harry could have saved me, after all. But will he be able to save himself from me?

I had no choice.